


Project 2.0

by BlueBastard



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Breeding, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, I also can't write smut for the life of me, I can't stress this enough this is very different from my usual fluffy take on things, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Smut, This some dark shit, but i tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBastard/pseuds/BlueBastard
Summary: Waking up in a room with strangers and not remembering how you got there is never a good sign. Even worse is when a bunch of labcoats use you for science. Why exactly are you getting these daily injections?





	Project 2.0

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strikecommandher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikecommandher/gifts).



The room you’re in is bland, boring –sterile. It smells of disinfectant and there are no windows to speak of. You don’t recognize your surroundings, nor do you remember how you got here. There are others like you in the room: women, around your age, frightened and confused. They’re whispering and crying. You can’t blame them. All the doors are locked, save for the ones leading to a sleeping area and bathroom. It’s a glorified prison and you know it.

Every once in a while a team of nurses and doctors come in. You’re examined from top to bottom. They ask you about your weight, height, menstrual cycle and eating habits. Blood is drawn and tested and you’re all given a strict diet. No one answers your questions. Any demands for answers are crushed and troublemakers are given a strong sedative. When that doesn’t deter them, they are taken away and never seen again. You take this as a sign to lay low.

You don’t know how long it’s been, days, weeks,  _months_  –but the doctors return. They roll in a cart with numbered syringes. The digits match those on your shirts. You’re scared, but at the same time don’t want to refuse in case you disappear like the other girls. They give you the shot, and nothing happens. You feel fine.

From that day on, around luchtime, all the women get a shot. It isn’t until a month passes that something strange happens. One of the girls is restless. She’s sweating, moaning and every layer of clothing she wears feels like a burden. The other women try to calm her down, give her ice-packs for the burning she describes, but nothing helps. The doctors return, and she is taken away. You all fear the worst –until she comes back but a few hours later. She’s docile and–  _satisfied_? You ask if she’s okay…she says she’s never felt better.

The very next day, you make a risky decision.

“You know what happens if you refuse, right?” one of the doctors asks.

You’re seated on your bed, arms crossed firmly over your chest. There was no backing down.

“Who said anything about ‘refusing’? I just asked what you were giving us. I’m not putting any more unknown substances in my body.” You pauzed, glacing at the frightened faces surrounding the scene. They feared for you. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll take it.”

The doctor sighed and glances at the security camera in the corner of the room. A minute of silence passes before another man walks in. The words 'A. Wesker’ were printed on his security badge and he looked important. He’s taller than the others, with slicked back blonde hair. Sporting sunglasses indoors, too.  _'Like a douche,’_  you think bitterly.

The doctor who had been treating you bounces back when the man heads in your direction –like this new guy is some kind of royalty. You think he’s about to give you an explanation, but instead he grabs the syringe. Before you realize what is happening, the man forces you onto your back, pinning you to the matress. Thrashing and turning has no use –his grip is like iron. Even with all your strenght, you couldn’t even lift you ass off the bed. You feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck as the needle breaks skin.

Just like that, it’s over. Without so much as a word or glance, he’s off you and heading out the room. Before he exists, he stops and turns, looking you dead in the eye. “It’s a fertility serum,” Wesker says, then leaves like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on a room full of women. You feel defeated. It all made sense now; the diets, the extreme physical examinations –you were being prepped to be  _bred_.

From that day on, you took your shots like an obedient little girl –fearing that if you didn’t, that man would return and force you to. And you’d rather not see him again.

One by one, the other women started experiencing the same thing; sweating, trouble breathing and a general air of unrest. You knew what it was; they were in heat. That fertility serum seemingly caused your hormones to go haywire when you were ready. That’s how those doctors knew who to take. You didn’t know what happened after you left this room, none of the girls remembered, but when you came back, chances were you were carrying something more. Four out of seven girls already had bulging bellies, two more had just been brought back to your joined cell after experiencing their first heat. It was only a matter of time before they too started showing.

And then there was you. For some reason, the serum did not affect you as much as it did the others. That, or you were in for one hell of a heat once the hormones finally kicked in. The scientists were getting impatient and upped your dosage. It had no effect. They even suspected you of tampering with their equipment but found no proof on the security footage. Eventually, they arrived to the conclusion that you might be naturally infertile. You were tested, but the results came back negative: you were perfectly capable of concieving. They were at their wits end, and you, you were counting your blessings.

It was only natural that your good luck would run out.

When two armed guards busted through the door, your immediate instict told you your time was up. They came straight for you and you knew this was the end of the line. The guards locked their arms around you and, to the absolute horror of your cellmates, dragged you out into the hall –kicking and screaming. You passed several doors before you were greeted with one labeled 'A. Wesker’. You never wanted to see those words again. They tossed you in unceremoniously, like dropping a bag of rubbish on the floor. The door slammed shut, and you were locked in with the man himself.

“You were hand picked for this project. Out of over a hundred candidates, you were chosen to bring greatness into this world…and here you are, squandering the opportunity” Wesker sat at his desk, hands folded neatly atop the surface. His gaze was unrelenting in judging your worth. “The serum was a necessity to make the artificial insemination successful, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect on you. You’re useless to us this way.”

You picked yourself off the floor, standing to meet his imposing figure. Even so, your person was dwarfed in comparison to him. You were frightened, but at the same time relieved: you were finally getting the answers you’d been asking for. “Then why am I here, and not dead?” you asked.

“I’m not a patient man. Artificial insemination isn’t the only method we can explore. I reckon if you get fertilized from the original source we will see success. Given enough attempts, of course.”

“Are you serious?!” you let out. “If you think I’m going to let some random dude lay hands on me, you’re out of your mi—!”

In the blink of an eye, he had you by the throat. “Oh you will…” he threatened, revealing a familiar looking  syringe. “This is well over the recommended dose, but seeing as you have such a high resistance to the formula, you’ll be alright. It may not induce your heat, but I am confident this will make you much more agreeable.”

The needle struck skin, and your body immediately went aflame. Heat coursed through your veins, blood boiling with arousal. You started sweating and your knees buckled. Wesker took advantage of your shaken state and dragged you over to his desk, slamming your chest onto the surface. He kicked your feet apart and you were forced to grab onto the wooden frame to keep from toppling over.

“Don’t move,” he said. In one swift gesture, he removed your jeans –dragging them down your ass to your ankles. The coolness of the air hit you hard – making you painfully aware of the effect the serum was starting to have on your body. You were wet. Already –without previous stimulation. You could hear him undo a zipper, and panicked.

“Y-You? You’re the donor?!” You attemped to look back, but his hand grabbed your head, locking it firmly onto the desk. He fisted your hair, getting a tight grip. It felt like he was crushing you skull: one wrong move, and he’d knock you out with one hand.

“I said: don’t move.” You felt something prodding at your entrance. The sensation was enough to drive you wild. “I’m a busy man and you’re wasting my time.”

You don’t know if you cried out but when he slid into you, but the feeling was so extraordinary you swear you could see stars. His pace is unrelenting and brutal from the beginning. He gave you no time to adjust and got right down to business, as expected. You slammed into the desk with ever rock of his hips, the edges digging into you stomach and pelvis. It hurt, but your mind was too preoccupied to care. The serum intensified every thrust, ever stroke of his cock against your sensitive inner walls. The twisted combination of pain and pleasure was pushing you to the brink of madness. You wanted to scream and cry, tell him to stop –but this damn serum had you feeling meek. You were letting him do this, and it was tearing you apart.

Your nails dug into the wood beneath you as you held on for dear life. Wesker made no sound, no indication that he got pleasure from this, but you were a moaning mess. The pressure inside of you began to build, signifying your impending climax. Unfortunately, you never got that far. With a sound akin to a grunt, Wesker spilled himself inside of you, just before you were about to reach your peak. He retreated. With the support of his body pressing you down gone, you sank to the floor. Exhausted.

This was too much. You needed to leave. Just get dressed and get out before this got worse.

Your pants were just over to the left. When you reached out to grab them, a heavy boot landed on the piece of clothing –achoring it to the floor. You stared up the leg, glaring at the man who had just violated you –who you had  _allowed_  to violate you.

“We’re not done until I say so. Your hormones are already fickle. I intend to fill you up completely, just to make sure.”


End file.
